I’m so sorry for the behavior of the media lately. The idea of you not wearing makeup has them up in a shameful roar, and I’m pissed. Although I love seeing your face, my gut has been bothered by what has been hurling around.

I feel an unrequited friendship between us; therefore, I’m a bit protective. So, I apologize if I’m way out of line here; it’s time once again for someone to tell the media to shut the hell up.

When I see a photo or video of you, I see a multifaceted, intelligent woman facing the world with bravery, charm, and elegance. And when I think of you in my mind’s eye, I see your eyes and your smile. And then I see your smile disappear with disappointment, and it’s painful to witness. The media have let you down. And though I have nothing to do with the media except this humble blog post, I’m sorry.

I’m sorry you cannot just be you in whatever shape, form, paint, or ideal you have set forth without judgment by the world. No matter what picture I see of you, makeup or no makeup, you look the same to me. I see you, Pamela. A woman filled to the rim with desire, passion, love & kindness. It shows up through it all, and I adore it.

When I first met you on my television screen of that Tool Time Tim show, I fell immediately into this odd fascination love with you. I became still mesmerized. I loved how you floated across the floor with that smile and that little something that every woman has–sexuality. Yours was and is beautiful, not because of the makeup and the hair or the boobs and the body, but because you owned it. Most of us were and are very afraid to do that. And not only did you own it, but the world couldn’t get enough. And the jealous assholes exploited you and took away your control over your expression of sex, intimacy, and your body. It makes my blood boil.

Your sexuality is one of the many facets of the woman you are. Perhaps the one that made you famous, but certainly not the only one. Like Marilyn Monroe, your beauty will be iconic for all time but what I hope for you is that you will someday be able to choose to hide or reveal whatever parts of yourself you desire. If you want this no-makeup revolution to make a huge deal of you being out of that particular costume that the world thinks you belong in, I will delete this entire blog post. Because then it becomes your choice, your power, your program, not the media’s.

During your time on Baywatch, I became one of the millions of “Pamela wannabees.” I wanted my sexuality to be as powerful as I felt yours. Your gift to so many of us was this feeling–the power behind your version of the courage we lacked. And since we weren’t entirely clear on how to express our sexuality and have it resemble the feelings you brought up in us, we copied you. So I dyed my hair platinum blonde, I wore dark makeup around my eyes and pink lipstick, I got my breasts augmented, and I went to the nail salon for my acrylic white tip French manicure appointments religiously every two weeks for fifteen years. I over-exercised and under-fed myself because I wanted your beautiful and powerful tiny waist. In fact my efforts to be small spanned so many years, I’m only now realizing even my shoe size was two sizes too small.

I followed you through all of your television shows, playboy features, and any headlines I could find. I even submitted my photos to Playboy because of my mother’s hopes of me following in your footsteps. But there is only one Pamela, Mom.

You remained in my psyche as I grew up. I married, had one child, a career, divorced, a second marriage, a new career, and now, at age 53, I am a different woman than I used to be. I don’t wear makeup, dye my hair or spend any time at the nail salon, and I protect that young woman who did with ferocity. She is still here within me, but now I want to hold her and comfort her. I want to praise her for being so brave when I was young and full of the “piss and vinegar” we are supposed to be full of at that age. I don’t wear makeup to protect her and who I used to be. I’m the older, wiser, more naturally beautiful version of myself. And so are you.

I survived the toxicity of the narcissistic love of my life, protected myself and our daughter from his evils, and became the strongest version of myself I could ever have imagined. I’m proud of us, Pamela, and I’m always rooting for you.

As I come to an end to my letter that I’m aware will never reach you, I just want to say that I hope all humans can someday rule their expression of self, sexuality, and humanity and it is accepted as true and right with the world. Oh, and also, may we not be remembered solely on that one facet of who we are and be held to that confining standard for rest of our damn lives. Fuck.

Yours truly,

Tina Hendricks